


Rooftops Before the Party

by MercurialArchivist



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Ponderings, musing on death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialArchivist/pseuds/MercurialArchivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corvo has some thinking to do before a party. Philosophy lessons are best done when you're not a wanted man, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rooftops Before the Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Runeless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runeless/gifts).



The air is cold, same as it always is this close to the sea in Dunwall. Still, Corvo doesn't feel it too much through the thick coat and the mask that he's been wearing for what has been only a couple of days, but feels like much longer. The gears click near his eye _(too near)_ as the lens clicks into focus, the genius of Piero letting him hear the conversation on the street below as if he was right next to them.

 

Corvo's mind is flying, even as he listens to the men below discuss the Boyle's party, trying to remember how many men, good men, he has killed so far, when the powers of the Outsider failed him and he was down to steel and muscle and skin, in the thick of a fight, no time to blink away, and the ingrained reflexes of a life long fighter carrying his blade through sinew and bone.

 

Too many. They never should have died, and wouldn't have if things were right in the world, like they would be when Emily was back where she needed to be, which wasn't the Hound Pits by any means. No little girl should have to stay there, or anywhere she had been during his incarceration.

 

He looks up as the men finish talking, blinking across to another rooftop to get a better view of the street, narrowly dodging the eyes of a Tall Boy passing by. He could kill him, easily, he could run off the roof and blink and his blade would be buried in another neck of another _(soldier doing his job, and watchman following his orders)_ man.

 

No.

 

A quick blink down to the street below, just out of sight, and he pockets his weapons, the blade folding into itself with an eerie quiet. It's just a short stroll to the party, through the front doors, signing his name in the book like it belonged there _(like it would when his Empress was alive)_ before setting to work, focusing entirely on the task at hand.

 

The Lady Boyle leaves the party unaware on a boat, and it doesn't bear thinking about what will happen to her, because he can't let himself think about that. He has a job to do, a young lady to put on the throne, and he will do it, by a knife in the dark, by information heard by the right person at the right time, and it will be over and he can go back to his job, protecting the Empress, just like he always been meant to do, just like he always will.

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction I have written in a long time, and it's little more than a drabble... I'd be disappointed, but really, I haven't done much in so long, I'm glad to have done anything at all.


End file.
